Writing is fun. It feeds the spirit to create something from nothing. Then it scares the crap out of you.
Having written on different levels for over three decades, the most difficult struggle for me is still releasing my words into the ether. But why? Isn’t the point of writing to express oneself? To share innermost thoughts and emotions? To imbue the human spirit into a character?
This means complete strangers will gain access to the private grey matter. I might slip up and reveal my views and subliminal emotions. People might learn that I am a MONSTER.
I wasted thirty years worrying about critiques and commentaries. I lived in perpetual fear of WHAT IF? I finally got over it. Who cares if someone hates me? I don’t. Who cares if someone dislikes my story and prefers another author’s voice? I don’t. Who cares if you embarrass your family and friends with your stories? I do…but I don’t.
I have learned that life is too short and precious to sit idly by and wonder what could have been. Legacies need to be built. Stories need to be told. People need to enjoy their escapism. And I need to spew. Words. Lots of words. Many of them will be analysed, re-written, corrected. And published.
The process is indeed difficult and scary. Just remember, anything worthy of exposure is frightening. If it weren’t, then you didn’t try hard enough.
What is scarier? Getting negative feedback for your words? Or never sharing YOUR STORY?